


A Slow Goodnight

by inwardtransience



Series: Back Burner [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Deaf Character, Dursleys are actual human beings, F/F, Female Harry Potter, Mentor!Snape - Freeform, Wandless Magic, Worldbuilding, manipulative!Dumbledore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 11:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11290254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inwardtransience/pseuds/inwardtransience
Summary: The Dark Lord wasn't truly dead. Even if nobody else believed it, Albus Dumbledore knew. His former student would one day return, more vicious and terrible than ever, but he had a plan to deal with him. The Girl-Who-Lived was central to his plans, her deafness only a minor setback, not too difficult to accommodate. Now, if only her family and friends would get with the program.





	A Slow Goodnight

_**January 10th, 1981** _

* * *

She was the last person Petunia had expected to see.

Dudley was only six months old, hardly sleeping through the night yet, but that honestly didn't much bother her. She'd long had trouble sleeping through the night herself, getting up at odd times at the slightest stimulus or simply for no reason at all, distracting herself for a bit before going back to bed an hour or two later, assuming she could make it to sleep at all. She probably hadn't gotten much more than five hours of sleep any night since she'd been fifteen or so. It had never really bothered her. She could only assume she simply needed less than most people.

One morning, right around four thirty, after getting Dudley back to sleep, she decided she likely wouldn't be getting any more herself. So she headed downstairs, toward the kitchen. Might as well make herself some tea — if she was going to be up anyway, no reason to shun the caffeine.

It wasn't until she entered the kitchen that she realised something was wrong. The windows were black. _Perfectly_ black — not the darkness of night, but completely absent of any colour, any glow from beyond at all, as if the outside world had ceased to exist. She stared for a long moment, more confused than frightened, blinking without thought at the impossible.

'Hello, Petunia.'

She didn't jump. She didn't scream. She didn't run to get Vernon, or for the phone. She hardly did much at all, actually. The second she heard the first syllable, she simply froze, ice climbing up her limbs. Because she _knew_ that voice. Knew it nearly as well as her own. Achingly familiar, but with a note of steel and exhaustion both she'd never heard on it before. But still, it was a voice she could never mistake.

She grit her teeth, staying exactly where she stood, not turning her head to look, still glaring at the blanked window. 'What are you doing here, Lily?'

'I know you're probably not happy to see me.' Petunia could only snort at that, crossing her arms over her chest. 'And I know you probably don't care to help me at all. But I need help, and I don't know who else to ask.'

Her arms tightening around her, Petunia finally turned, her eyes fixing on her sister, sitting at the kitchen table. She was wearing one of those ridiculous cloaks those magical people wore, a deep black, hiding her figure. All that was visible was the fiery red of her hair, her soft, pale face. She looked oddly drawn, haggard. But Petunia ignored that, forcing fury and disdain into every syllable. 'Why should I help _you?_ Why would you even _need_ it?'

Lily sighed, her eyes closing, raised a hand to drag against her face. Petunia distantly noticed her fingers shaking. 'Please, Petunia, I'm not asking for a lot. I just need you to talk to a couple doctors for me, ask a few questions. That's all.'

'Why? Can't _your_ people handle whatever it is?'

She hesitated, an almost terrified sort of look crossing her face for a moment. 'I've already asked. I'm told this is something magic can't fix.'

With a sniff, Petunia turned away again. 'Well, if you can't fix it, I don't know what you think a few _muggles_ would be able to do.' She heard Lily shift in her seat, but she didn't speak. 'I see no reason to help you with something you can go do yourself easy enough. You better not be here when Vernon wakes up.' And she turned, starting for the door back into the hall.

And Lily spoke to her back, the sudden desperation on her voice enough to make her pause. 'Petunia, _please_. It's—' Lily broke off, and Petunia thought she heard her swallow. 'It's my daughter.'

That actually got Petunia's serious attention. She'd gotten a letter some months ago now, Lily informing her she and that horrid Potter boy had had a child. Dudley had been just a month old at the time, and Petunia had not been inclined to care, so she really couldn't remember much of what the letter had said. Couldn't even remember the girl's name, actually. She'd had absolutely no interest in seeing the girl — no interest in seeing Lily ever again either, for that matter.

But, despite herself, she felt her determination to have nothing to do with her sister gradually wilt. She could only too well imagine. If Dudley were ill, so terribly ill that the doctors said there was nothing they could do, she knew she would do anything, _anything_ , even beg the sister she'd hardly talked to in years, the sister she loved and hated in equal measure, too wrapped up in fury and familiarity and betrayal and affection to really make sense of it all anymore, to do _something_ with that magic of hers. It wouldn't be a choice, there would be no other option, no matter how much it would sting. And she knew, if Lily rejected her, ignored her—

Well. She didn't really want to think about that.

So she sighed, her arms loosening a bit from the stranglehold she'd had around herself. 'I was about to make tea.'

Lily just let out a soft breath of relief.

A few minutes later, Petunia was seated across from her sister at her kitchen table, cup of tea in her hands. And feeling dreadfully uncomfortable. For a long moment she just watched. Lily glancing around at nothing, or possibly at things Petunia simply couldn't see, almost fearful. Her hands shaking so badly she almost spilled. She found the thought almost amusing — her perfect little sister, from childhood graceful enough she seemed to glide more than walk, so unsteady she was nearly making a mess of herself. No, there was no "almost" about that, that _was_ amusing. Amusing in a dark, cruel way, she would admit, but still amusing.

But that was enough awkward silence for her, thank you very much. 'Before you tell me just what you need so badly, why can't you just go ask yourself?'

Lily sighed, rubbed at her face again. 'It wouldn't be safe.'

'Not safe?' she said with a frown. That was silly. She couldn't imagine going to talk to a couple doctors could be _not safe_ for someone like her sister.

For a couple seconds Lily hesitated, before letting out another tired sigh. 'To summarise a very long story, the people of magical Britain are at war. There's this man, a very powerful wizard practising very questionable magic, leading a group of the similarly inclined. I would be in danger no matter what — they don't approve of people like me, you see, people with non-magical parents — but by directly opposing them I made an even bigger target of myself. Their leader is after me and James specifically now. We've been in hiding for months. I can't go anywhere I could be seen, recognised.'

Some of this wasn't entirely news to Petunia. Back when Lily was still at that school, she'd been told a few things, about the peculiar prejudice held by some of these people, whispers about someone referred to as a Dark Lord on the rise. Apparently, things had gotten far worse than they'd been at the time, if it had developed into an outright war. That Lily and Potter were in hiding implied these people wanted to _kill_ them, which was such a—

And then she realised the problem with that. Her chest tightening, her head tingling with sudden, unreasoning fear, she squeaked out, 'They can't have followed you _here_ …'

Lily shook her head. 'I did absolutely everything I could to prevent it. I left home for another safehouse, then altered my appearance before moving to _another_ safehouse. Then I altered my appearance again and apparated around the country at random a few times, some from heavily trafficked locations. Then I disillusioned myself — made myself invisible — and used a tricky bit of displacement magic to come straight here, something that is, as far as I know, completely untraceable. Then I put an illusion on the windows,' she said, nodding at the unnatural black. 'Anyone standing outside would see your home as I found it — dark and silent. The chances of someone having successfully followed me are all but nonexistent.'

The terror gradually faded away, almost reluctantly. Not completely, but mostly. She hadn't understood most of that, but she _had_ understood that Lily had gone to great lengths to ensure her enemies wouldn't follow her, that they wouldn't find their way to Petunia's family, that they would be safe. And if she had to go to that much effort just to come here, she guessed it would follow she couldn't go asking doctors questions without some risk. Made sense. She nodded to herself. 'Okay. Your daughter, then. What was her name again?'

Lily's eyes drifted closed, her fingers visibly tightening around her tea. 'Hazel.'

Yes, she'd had the vague impression Lily had continued the family tradition of choosing plant-themed names, just hadn't been able to remember the exact one. 'Right. And what's wrong with her?'

For long moments, Lily didn't answer. She glared down at her tea in silence, blinking a bit more frequently than normal, her jaw shifting slightly as she grit her teeth. Finally, she whispered, 'She's deaf.'

'Deaf?' She considered that for a second. 'How deaf?' She knew there were degrees of deafness. Few people called deaf truly couldn't hear at all, but instead simply had hearing so faint or so distorted that it was useless on a practical level. She could only assume the difference was relevant, as far as any medical treatment went.

' _Completely_ deaf. No hearing at all. James has a cousin, a Healer. When we started getting really worried we called her in to take a look at her. She says when there's _something_ there, any connection at all between sound and mind, there are options, different ways to widen the connection, filter interference, simply amplify the sound coming in. But if that connection isn't there, there's _nothing they can do_. She said Hazel would never hear, ever.' Lily's voice ended in a croak, and she leaned back in her chair, her hand again coming to her face, covering her eyes.

There was really only one answer to give. It wouldn't be too much of an inconvenience to ask. Not too much trouble. And the heartbroken sound of her sister's voice was pulling at her in a way Petunia couldn't ignore, even if she'd been inclined to. She let out a long sigh, her pride requiring she at least _sound_ appropriately put-upon. 'Alright. How do I contact you?'

Lily's hand dropped away, and she gave her a weak smile, her bright eyes a watery green. 'You can't. I'll come back. Is two weeks long enough? And does this time work again?'

She shrugged — it shouldn't take all that much effort, and she'd likely be awake nearly any day at this time. But, then, Lily knew how she slept, so she'd probably known that. 'Yes. That's fine.'

And then silence descended again. First for seconds, then minutes. Lily watching, rubbing at her face, Petunia mostly staring at the wall. After she didn't know how long, Lily said, sounding almost reluctant, 'I should probably go. I didn't tell James I was leaving. He's probably panicking already.'

There was another thought Petunia found all too amusing. She had never really liked the Potter brat, _at all_ — but she supposed that was fair, since Lily had rather vocally expressed her disapproval of Vernon herself — and the thought of Lily making him suffer a little tickled her. 'Can't have that, I guess.'

Lily gave the table a crooked, dark sort of grin. 'I've been having it a lot, lately.'

Petunia wasn't entirely sure what to think about that statement.

* * *

_**January 24th, 1981** _

* * *

Petunia was unseeingly staring out the window, sitting in the chair in the nursery, Dudley newly asleep laid over her chest, absently humming to herself, when she saw it. The outside world turned to black. Not all at once, but gradually, like the light of reality swiftly dimming before vanishing completely.

She knew what that meant.

So she wasn't surprised when she heard the very familiar voice, lowered to a whisper, coming from the doorway. 'I can come back later.'

Part of her wanted to tell Lily to leave. To leave and never come back. Part of her wanted to tell her to stay. To stay and never leave ever again. Part of her was so filled with pity — and if _that_ wasn't an emotion she'd never expected to feel for her perfect little witch of a sister — she wanted to draw this out, stall this conversation as long as she could. But, no, she thought with a sigh, there was no reason for that. Might as well get it over with as soon as possible. So she rose without a word, gently placing Dudley into bed, settling blankets against winter chill.

And was a touch startled when she realised Lily was standing right next to her, gazing down at her sleeping son. Petunia noticed a little absently her sister was still shorter than she was. Then Lily glanced up, a little to the side, looking to the window showing only blackness. She raised a hand, a single finger stretching into the air. Her hand moved, that finger gently dragging, light suddenly blooming from the tip, a blazing white-red that didn't dissipate, but floated in place as soft lines, as though Lily were fingerpainting the air itself. She drew something, a single shape Petunia didn't recognise, then, with a flick of her wrist, the light vanished, disappearing in a flash toward the window. And Lily turned back to step toward the hallway.

Petunia was caught somewhere between screaming at Lily for using magic in her house and begging to be shown more. So she just asked, 'What was that?'

She looked over her shoulder to see Lily, standing at the door. She wasn't dressed the same as she had been before, but still not obviously clothes made by normal people. The deep red cloak seemed to be nearly weightless, not quite settling all the way down, trailing slightly in the wake of her previous movement. The simple loose trousers and shirt under it were made of black and silver, but the colours looked rather off, the black impossibly dark, the silver almost appearing to glow. 'Does this room ever seem colder than the rest of the house?'

For a second, Petunia just blinked at that. 'Well, yes. Only slightly. I always thought it was my imagination.'

Lily shook her head. 'The window wasn't quite flush in the frame. I fixed it.' Before leaving for the hallway, toward the stairs back down, Lily gave the crib a final, unconscious glance, so quick it was almost unnoticeable.

Allowing absolutely no doubt exactly why she'd bothered.

Petunia didn't let herself be distracted by the thought, and simply followed Lily back downstairs in silence. A few minutes later, they were back in their same spots at the kitchen table, cups of tea once more in hands. A folder sitting in front of Petunia. But, not eager for this conversation, she looked for a distraction before answering. 'What in God's name are you wearing?'

Lily's lips tilted into a smile at that, shaking her head a little. 'It's an Auror uniform. Not mine, I borrowed it.'

'Auror?' The term was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place it.

After a moment of thought, Lily said, 'Sort of a cross between a police inspector and a special forces soldier. I was actually in an apprenticeship with the Aurors for a while, but I left when the war started really picking up. I wanted to be more directly involved. The Order seemed a good way to do it.'

For a long moment, Petunia could just stare across the table at her sister, her tea temporarily forgotten halfway to her face. 'You're saying you nearly joined the magical military.'

Lily shrugged. 'Sort of.'

The thought seemed wildly inappropriate. Her little sister had always been just that — _little_. Tiny, both shorter and slighter than Petunia was sure she'd been at the same age. And she'd always been nice to practically _everybody_ , even people who certainly didn't deserve it. So gentle it was almost painful — Petunia particularly remembered one time, long ago, when they'd found some bird, on the ground with a broken wing, how Lily, who had to have been four or five at the time, had gathered the thing up in her hands, clutched to her chest, wailing so long and breathlessly Petunia had thought she would hurt herself, when suddenly, in what she later learned was magic done by complete accident, the bird was new again, flying off into the air ahead of Lily's relieved giggling. The thought of her little sister fighting, killing, was just...completely inconceivable.

And she quite suddenly didn't want to think about that anymore. Pushing the subject from her mind, she slid the folder across the table toward Lily. 'I asked a couple people. That's everything they gave me.' It had taken a little convincing for the people she'd asked — Dudley's paediatrician, her own doctor she'd been seeing since she was a teenager, a friend of an acquaintance — to tell her much of anything at all. They kept asking _why_ she wanted to know, and she hadn't really been sure how to answer that. But, eventually, they'd given her answers.

So she wasn't surprised when, after only a couple moments of silence looking through the papers and pamphlets inside, she heard a choked sound somewhere between a gasp and a sob escape her sister. Because everyone she'd talked to had told her about special precautions to take, resources for learning sign language, schools for the deaf around the country. They hadn't talked about any sort of medical intervention at all. Because, for people with complete deafness, there was none.

It seemed neither magic nor medicine could help little Hazel Potter.

'Well.' Lily closed the folder again, pausing to take a few extra seconds to gather herself. She looked terrible, so tired. 'Thank you, Petunia. I do really appreciate it.'

And Lily didn't even mean it sarcastically. That's just how she was. Petunia shrugged. 'I'm sorry.'

Lily just gave her another sad sort of smile.

They sat for a few minutes longer, sipping mostly in silence. Petunia really didn't know what to talk about, and she could only assume her sister was having the same problem. They managed a little bit of small talk, but not a lot, awkward silence always descending after only a couple sentences back and forth. Eventually Lily sighed, shaking her head slightly to herself. 'I should get back again. This time I'll have James _and_ Alice panicking on me if I take too long.'

And, Petunia knew, that wasn't just an excuse, Lily really did mean that. That's just how she was. 'Alice? Alice Prewett, right, that noisy friend of yours?' She'd come over during breaks a couple times. Petunia hadn't liked her much, for a whole list of reasons.

Lily gave her a tired little smirk at that. 'Yes, she is a bit noisy, isn't she. Though it's Alice Longbottom now. This is her uniform I borrowed.'

Alice, at least, she could see as one of these Auror people much easier.

'She insisted, if I was going to be leaving the house again. These things have so many defensive charms on them they practically glow with it. And it's an extra thing to confuse my identity.' Lily shrugged. 'But before I go, I—' She broke off, frowning to herself. Petunia just waited — she'd get it out when she felt like it. But she moved before she spoke, reaching into her cloak, pulling out an envelope. Normal paper, not that weird parchment they used. 'I'd like you to keep this, but...don't open it yet. Only if I, well. You know, don't make it. If I don't survive this war.' Something on her voice, an odd heaviness, implied clearly to Petunia just how likely she thought that was.

And that was definitely something she didn't feel like thinking about.

But she couldn't help asking, 'What's in it?'

Lily sighed, setting the envelope down on the table. 'Gifts, requests. Advice on how to prevent certain people from interfering with you receiving or accomplishing the same. A couple people you can contact if you need anything. And a little more.'

That was a bit vague, but Petunia knew that was all her little sister would offer. So she just nodded. 'Okay. Just in case?'

'Yeah,' Lily said, smiling a little, 'just in case.' Petunia could tell the easiness was insincere — Lily never had been a very good liar — but she didn't comment. 'I'll see you later, Petunia.'

She said something similar back, with an admittedly half-hearted smile on her face. She watched as Lily stood, pulled her wand out of nothing, then vanished, the outside world returning to the windows an instant later. And she was gone.

But they'd lied.

Petunia would never see her little sister again.

* * *

_**October 31st, 1981** _

* * *

The blaring of the intent ward in her head was completely unexpected. After months of silence, she hadn't even been sure she would recognise it should it finally come.

But hardly a second had passed before they were both moving. James tripping a few alarms by breaking the unassuming objects on the mantel they were connected to, alarms that would summon help far too late. Lily summoning both their wands to her hand even as she reached out into the yard, searching for the intruder — she recognised that signature instantly, that twisted, broken mass of darkness and cruel insanity. Cold fear rose in her chest, but only for an instant before she suppressed it, forcing herself calm, forcing herself to _act_. She'd planned for this. She had a plan. And it would work. It had to.

James was done, standing in front of her. Staring at her with hard, intense brown-green eyes. He knew the plan, too. He still didn't approve, but he knew it. He knew the wards that hid them also bound them, trapped them. There was only one way to save her. It might be blood magic, it might be dark, some might even call it black. But it was the only way. Still, he asked, 'You're sure?'

She didn't even hesitate. 'Yes.'

He nodded. And he kissed her, once, fleetingly, almost harshly. She felt it instantly, the clenching in her chest and throat, the panicky fluttering in her head, with the knowledge that it was so fleeting, so harsh, because he couldn't allow himself any more, he wouldn't be able to stop, because he knew, they both knew, that they would never see each other again. That this was goodbye. He tore his eyes from hers, stepped toward the door, his wand already moving, conjured barricades one after the other leaping into existence before the front door. 'Go.'

Without even looking in her direction, she cast her power out into the world, forming it into a charm of lifting and movement, drawing her daughter into the air. Hazel instantly let out a peal of ecstatic giggles as she floated over toward her. Lily had always wondered about that — how did she knew what laughter was supposed to sound like to imitate it? were certain things simply innate? But she cast the thought out, turned towards the stairs, ascending at a run, Hazel drifting along behind her, without a backward glance.

Soon they were in her daughter's room, a room prepared for exactly such a night as this months ago now. The two of them, she and James, they could fight Gaunt, as he'd once introduced himself to her what felt like so very long ago now, and quite possibly survive. Maybe even kill him — they'd managed to do rather well against him in the past. But even trying was completely unacceptable. A duel between mages as powerful as they, especially with how destructive Gaunt and herself in particular could be, did not leave their surroundings unscathed. She very much doubted the house would remain standing. And inside the house was Hazel. One or even both of them, she and James, could quite possibly survive. But Hazel would almost certainly die.

And she and James agreed. That was completely, absolutely, simply _unacceptable_.

So they chose. And she would choose, right now.

She closed the door behind her, activating the enchantments reinforcing the entire surface with a tap of her wand, even as she levitated Hazel, still breathlessly giggling, onto her little bed, even as she heard charms of blasting and burning start tearing at the defences she knew James was still at work building and reinforcing. But she put that out of her mind. She dropped her wand to the carpeted floor — she would never again have use of it — and stood over her daughter. Her daughter, staring up at her with curious, uncomprehending eyes. And she got to work.

It was complex magic. Very illegal. She'd already done some of the preliminary work, runes of drawing and binding carved into the frame of the bed. Staring into Hazel's eyes, eyes so very much like her own, she sliced into her own wrist with a wandless charm, held her blood in the air with another.

And she started her ritual, a volatile enchantment of blood and sacrifice. She drew the power of the world into her finger, inscribing her will into the currents of reality itself, rune after rune after rune, some the same bright reddish-white such magic always came to her as, others a deeper, dark red, stained with the blood she imbued parts of the enchantment with. Runes of sacrifice, runes of binding, runes of exchange, runes of intent, runes of protection, runes of violence.

Herself, the sacrifice.

Hazel, to be bound.

Life and magic and spirit, to be exchanged.

One given to the other, one given for the other, her intent.

Granted to the bound, protection.

A penalty to be exacted upon those violating the protection she gave the bound in exchange for her sacrifice, violence.

All so neat. All so perfect.

Almost beautiful, she thought.

She'd had Remus and Alice help her look over the runes, even as she'd promised she would never use it. Only should the worst happen, and there was no other hope.

The worst had happened, and there was no other hope.

She drew the last strokes of the last runes, with fury so powerful she almost distracted herself from her casting. He could torture and kill all he liked. He could kill her friends. He could kill her husband. He could even kill Lily herself. But he would _never_ kill Hazel. Even if she had to use very dark, very illegal, sacrificial blood magic. She didn't care. Hazel would live, no matter what. He wouldn't have her, she refused to allow it.

And she would make him die _in agony_ for even _thinking_ to touch her daughter.

Her runes flickered, inverted, fell upon Hazel with a rush. Hazel started, clumsily shaking her head, struck with magic Lily couldn't feel happening. She'd designed enchantments into this room to interfere with anyone's ability to sense magic, that was very important — if Gaunt felt traces of such magic he'd probably be too cautious for her plan to work. But she felt the tingling, so very soft, almost unnoticeable, a faint lightning current running through every vein and artery in her body, a song of power connecting her life to her daughter's. It had to have worked.

But she knew she didn't have time to confirm it. With a few quick flicks of her fingers she healed the cut on her wrist, vanished all traces of blood.

And abruptly remembered James casually calling her skill with wandless magic the most frightening thing he had ever seen, with laughter and warmth in his eyes. She was certain he was dead already, she could feel Gaunt at the top of the stairs now, so close, and James nowhere around, but she refused to allow herself to be distracted by the thought. The plan wasn't done, there was one more thing to do, and Hazel would be safe, and his murderer, the demon who had killed so many, would be dead.

All she had to do was get Gaunt to kill her. With that favorite curse of his, preferably, but anything would do, so long as she was dead before he turned his wand on Hazel, she must be dead first.

Shouldn't be hard.

Gaunt was temporarily stymied by her enchantments on the door, but only a few seconds had the hidden runes burning out of existence, the door itself vanished a moment later. And the man who had first introduced himself to her as Thomas Gaunt, now known to all the world as the Dark Lord Voldemort, stood before her, those familiar eyes a glowing red, the familiar features a twisted mockery of humanity. She forced herself steady, back straight, chin high, meeting those horrid eyes with her own. She refused to give an inch even as she surrendered her life.

She found the thought that, though he likely wouldn't understand the sentiment, he would most certainly respect it even as he murdered her anyway morbidly amusing.

For a long moment, they simply stared at each other, Gaunt's pale fingers running along his even paler wand in silence. She was a little surprised when, instead of just killing her, he spoke to her, in that annoying rasping voice of his. 'You don't have to die tonight, you know.'

That was perhaps the most unexpected thing she had ever heard Gaunt say. And she had quite a list. 'Why not? What's there about little old mudblooded me that gets some courtesy my husband didn't?'

'Nothing. Simply a favor I was asked.'

Well. At least he was honest about it. 'I see. I guess it's nice to know Severus still cares enough to try.' She thought she might have noticed the barest flicker of surprise from him, that she'd correctly guessed the identity of the Death Eater who'd begged him to spare her life. Which was quite stupid of him — it had been a guess, true, but she would really think it should have been obvious. 'But I only see this going one way. I won't let you kill her. Not while I live.'

That she wouldn't let him kill Hazel even after she was dead was completely beside the point.

Gaunt's wand shot up toward her and, to her honest surprise, fired off the familiar red flicker of a stunner. But that was easy enough to deal with — she just slapped the thing away from her, barehanded, sending it to splash against one of the walls behind her. Really, she'd deflected curses wandlessly right in front of him before, he should have _known_ that wouldn't have done any good. He was so ridiculously overconfident in his own superiority sometimes.

And then, because she was going to die already anyway, and because she _could_ , she did the most idiotically childish and provocative thing she could possibly think of. With another slapping motion of her hand, this time moving the other direction, she brought a stinging charm down on his bony cheek — and was again a little surprised when it hit.

His eyes flared with his fury, his robes rising and fluttering with unsuppressable power slipping from its bonds, levelling on her that weighted, enraged glare, one she knew made other mages cower in terror, even Aurors shiver with dread.

Lily just smirked at him. Which, successfully, only made him even more angry.

The last thing she saw was a rush of green light.

The last thing she felt was an almighty jerk, one so sudden, so powerful, she was sure it would shake her mind, her magic, her very soul, to pieces.

And the last thing she thought was that, if she still had breath, she would be laughing.

Thomas Gaunt was about to die.

And then, finally, her daughter would be safe.

* * *

_**November 2nd, 1981** _

* * *

Petunia froze at the bottom of the stairs, gazing through the windows surrounding the front door. She thought she'd seen something, made indistinct by the fogged glass, sure enough she'd stopped in premature fright. Now she wasn't so sure. It was the same normal blurry darkness she always saw out the windows when she passed by during the night, nothing out of the ordinary to—

And the view shifted, a few blobs of brighter colour moving in tandem. And she suddenly was positive someone was standing outside her front door. But what to do about that? Get Vernon? Call the police? No, both of those were probably overreactions. Statistically speaking, she knew whoever out there was most likely to be harmless. If he knew she was there, he probably would have fled already, abandoned whatever he was up to.

Well. She'd just make him flee, then.

Moving slowly, quietly, Petunia moved closer to the door. She ignored how her heart seemed to be pounding louder than it really should in her ears — so silly. She floated one hand over the doorknob, the other over the light switch. Then, in rapid, simultaneous movements, she slapped the light switch, bringing a bright yellow-orange glow to life behind and above her, and unlocked the door and flung it open.

She was shocked into stillness to find two people who were _obviously_ magical standing just a few steps away from her front door.

The shock worked still deeper when, a moment later, she _recognised_ them — McGonagall and Dumbledore, professors from that school Lily had gone to. She'd never met Dumbledore in person, only seen him in pictures, but she'd actually spoken to McGonagall a couple times. She'd been the one to drop by their house one day, long ago, to tell her family of the existence of magic, only to be a bit surprised herself when they'd already known, informed years ago by that Snape boy down the street.

'What are _you_ doing here?'

For a moment the two simply blinked at her, glanced at each other. 'My apologies, Missus Dursley,' the flamboyantly dressed old man started, 'we didn't expect you to be—'

'Is that a _child?!'_ She couldn't repress the incredulous outburst when she'd glanced down to see, wrapped in a bundle of blankets on the top step just outside the door, what could only be a young child — an infant, really, certainly no older than Dudley.

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, staring at her, before finally speaking. 'Yes. We thought it best to—'

'Wait a second.' It had taken him long enough to explain himself that Petunia's brain had started unsticking, slowly started drawing conclusions from evidence. 'You were _leaving_ her here for me?' Petunia wasn't entirely sure how she knew this was a girl, since it could really be impossible to tell this young, but she wasn't thinking about that right now. 'Just, on the steps, outside. In _November_.'

'Well, yes—'

'What is _wrong_ with you wizards?! _Jesus_ …'

McGonagall, who had been looking gradually more annoyed each time Petunia interrupted the ridiculous-looking old man, spoke in her vaguely-familiar terse voice. 'Really, Missus Dursley, there is no reason to—'

'There is _every_ reason to! You have _no idea_ what could have happened leaving her here the whole—' At that second, her brain suddenly caught up. Cold dread abruptly sinking into her stomach, so sharp and sudden her outrage instantly faded, she looked down at the girl. 'Oh, _God_ , that's Hazel, isn't it?'

The absent sort of smile that had been on Dumbledore's face vanished, replaced by an expression more severe, regretful. Even McGonagall's ire had been shattered, now looking, quite suddenly, to be on the edge of tears. 'Yes, she is,' the peculiar wizard said.

For some seconds, Petunia could only stare down at the sleeping girl, her mouth working in silence. The implication was obvious, she didn't really need to ask to know, but she still knew she would have to, would have to be told explicitly or she'd only wonder about it later. But her mouth didn't really seem to be working so well right now. Finally, after long moments, she managed to get an abbreviated version of the question out. 'Lily?'

'Late Halloween night, Lord Voldemort—' McGonagall flinched so hard Petunia could hear it. '—attacked the Potters in their home. I'm afraid neither Lily nor James survived.'

The words washed over her like waves against the shore, harsh and heavy without actually penetrating too far. They just didn't quite make sense. She knew Lily had been afraid, last she'd seen her. Well, not _afraid_ , exactly — she wasn't positive her Adrestian little sister was quite capable of being afraid. More exhausted, buried under the pressure of what Petunia assumed had to have been some years of war. Convinced, to some degree, in a lost, hopeless sort of way, that she wouldn't be seeing the end of it. Petunia had understood that much, when she'd last seen Lily back in January.

But it hadn't seriously occurred to her that Lily would actually die. It had been a possibility, sure, but an obscure one, and she'd mostly dismissed it.

And now, this wizard was telling her Lily was dead. And it still didn't seem real. She'd heard the words, knew it had to be true for Hazel to be here — she doubted Lily would have allowed anyone to just leave her daughter here like Dumbledore had been intending — but the reality didn't quite penetrate. It was just so inconceivable, a truth so massive and murky Petunia couldn't wrap her head around it.

It didn't make any sense.

It wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

But it was. There was no other explanation. She wouldn't necessarily take these silly wizards at their word about most anything, but… That _was_ a child there. She could think of no one else someone might decide should be left with her. (Leave aside any comments about exactly _how_ she was being left with her for the moment.) If Lily were still alive, she would never let her daughter be taken anywhere. (Especially not to be _left on a doorstep_ in _November._ ) Therefore, Lily must be dead. It was the only thing that made sense.

She didn't…

She didn't know how to handle this.

The old man was babbling again, but she wasn't listening. Letting the words wash past her like so much empty noise, Petunia slow crouched down toward the floor. She noticed her fingers were shaking slightly. Casting the thought aside, she slipped her hands under the bundle of blankets, lifted them and the girl half-hidden inside from the concrete. There was an odd tingling in her hands all the way up to her elbows for a second, but she ignored, straightened to standing, cradling the girl in the crook of her arm. She freed one hand, brought her yet shaking fingers around to the girl's head, pushed enough of the blankets out of the way to get a good look. She had to swallow once she did.

There'd always been something odd about Lily's hair. She'd loved it, of course, perhaps a bit jealously but all the same. She had read hair, but not like other people had red hair. It was a vibrant, deep, unnaturally intense shade, like a moody fire or freshly-spilled blood, a colour she'd seen on nobody else. She was rather certain hair wasn't supposed to be that colour. It must be magic, some sign of power visible in very few people. Maybe lots of mages had strange hair colours? She wouldn't know.

It was thin on Hazel's head, the girl only a few months into her second year, and a bit lighter for it. But Petunia could tell at a glance what colour it would be, knew immediately what she was looking at. There was no doubt in her mind. This was Lily's daughter.

There was no doubt in her mind.

Lily was gone.

She needed them gone. She needed them gone right now. 'If you'll excuse me, Dumbledore.' Her own voice came out strained and cracking, sharp enough she winced, but she ignored it to the best of her ability. She stepped further into her home, her free hand moving to the door.

'I am sorry to be the bearer of terrible news, Missus Dursley, but there are other matters we—'

'If you truly must, come back later. I don't…' Petunia glanced down at Hazel again, and had to close her eyes, ruthlessly forcing back the tears in her own eyes. 'I can't do this right now. Please, just leave me alone.'

The old wizard and witch, thankfully, didn't say another word. She shut the door on them, gently, levering it fully closed with her shoulder against the wood, slowly turning the latch so as to not make too much noise. And belatedly remembering there was no risk of waking Hazel up — no matter how much noise Petunia made, her niece wouldn't hear it anyway.

For long moments, Petunia stood there, staring down at Hazel.

She remembered Lily being born. Barely. She'd been...three years old at the time? She thought it was three. She definitely remembered Lily being a baby, anyway. She remembered thinking how tiny and strange her new sister was. Was that really a person? She couldn't imagine something like that could be a person. Too small and shaped wrong, and incapable of doing basic person things. It'd seemed somehow wrong, on some fundamental level her toddler brain hadn't quite grasped. But she'd been told she was the big sister, it was her job to take care of her, so she'd done so, and she'd kept doing so, tried to keep her often too energetic and unreasonable reckless baby sister out of trouble, and she'd kept trying until…

Until everything had gone wrong. It was so stupid, in retrospect. Stupid teenage nonsense. Petty jealousy on her part — both over Lily's magic and her looks, she could admit to herself. Lily wasn't entirely blameless, her occasional self-righteousness and frequent stubbornness hadn't helped any. But it was so stupid. She knew that, looking back, it was so stupid. They'd wasted so many years over stupid shite that didn't even matter.

Petunia had always thought they'd make up eventually. She might have claimed otherwise to anyone else, or even in her own thoughts, but she'd known the dissolution of their relationship wouldn't be forever. It'd come around, eventually. They'd get over it, reconnect.

Now they never could.

Petunia held Hazel against her chest, stopping herself from squeezing her too tight with conscious effort. She fought against the tight, hot agony in her chest and throat, but it was winning, she couldn't defeat it entirely. Her breath caught hard and ragged, tears stinging at her eyes, but still she choked it back, not wanting to…

Well, wake someone else up, anyway.

She'd been standing there for a while, trying and mostly failing not to cry, she wasn't sure how long exactly, when she suddenly remembered. The letter. Lily had left a letter. She darted over to the living room, laid Hazel down on the couch, then went right back for the entry hall, over to the cupboard under the stairs. She yanked the door open, tipped an overlarge box filled with old shoes partially off a shelf. She dug around for a moment, finally slipping out the sealed envelope from under a pair of boots. In a moment, she was back in the living room, sitting on the couch next to a still sleeping Hazel — she glanced at the girl quick, just to be sure. It took long moments to work up the courage to open it.

Even when she tried, her fingers shook so badly it took far longer to open when it should. And when she finally had it open, she was delayed again, vision blurred to uselessness throat clenching tighter only at the familiar sight of her sister's hand.

> Petunia,  
> I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask an enormous favour of you. I know I have little right to ask any. We've barely talked for years, and I know that's partially my fault. I didn't mean for things to get so bad between us. I suppose I could say the war has had me very distracted, there were always more urgent matters demanding my attention, but that's just an excuse. I know you might not be so willing to humour me, do anything quite so much for me. But I have no other options.  
> The Dark Lord is going to get to us eventually. I know he is. Our protections are supposedly perfect, but everything has flaws. It will happen eventually. And I could fight him, I could try to escape. But people like me getting in magical fights with people like him make a very large mess. Since this fight would be happening at her house, well, there probably wouldn't be a house afterward. Which would mean Hazel would die. Either at his wand, or at my own, unintentionally, unknowingly, it doesn't matter. I won't allow it.  
> I came up with something else. To put it simply, I invented a ritual that will kill the Dark Lord without me needing to fight. All I have to do is die. When the time comes, I'll perform my ritual, and I'll let him kill me. On purpose. And my death will give my ritual power, power enough that, when he tries to kill Hazel, he will die instead. It's the only way. It's all I can think of.  
> But the protections on Hazel won't just work against him, and won't end with his death. Blood is a very powerful thing. The willing sacrifice of a life is a very powerful thing. My protection will follow Hazel for a long time. I'm not sure how long, but long.  
> Should James and I die, Hazel should go to one of her godparents. Sirius or Alice, I know you've met them both. But I don't think that's what will happen. Dumbledore will be able to feel what I will do to Hazel on her. He'll know what it means, he'll know how it works. And he'll bring Hazel to you.  
> No, he doesn't have the legal authority to just do that, but I'm sure he will. On that note, a warning: Do not trust Albus Dumbledore.  
> Because, see, blood is a very powerful thing. The protection I will give Hazel will endure, but whatever power is expended will need to be replaced. And that power has to come from somewhere. Since I will create it with my blood, the power must come from my blood. Anyone who shares blood with me will do, the more closely related the better. There is only one viable option.  
> That is the favour I'm asking of you, Petunia. If I don't survive, I need you to raise my daughter for me. She'll be safest with you, because of magic I have given her. You will be safest with her, for that matter. I haven't tested it, of course, but I think the magic should expand to protect everyone dear to her as well.  
> I know this is a lot to ask, and not only because you might not be inclined to do anything for me at the moment. You do have a young child of your own to take care of already. And Hazel is deaf. That won't make it easier. She is very easy-going, bright for her age too, but she will take more effort than an ordinary child because she is not an ordinary child.  
> I have left things for you to make it somewhat easier. The separate slips of paper in this envelope have names of people you can call, people you can trust. I've left them instructions for what to do if you contact them, money and a few trinkets. And Hazel will be magic herself, she definitely will, no doubts there, so magical help couldn't hurt.  
> Even if you don't decide to keep Hazel, you should write Horace Slughorn, instructions attached. It's a gift, for your Dudley. The inheritance of magic is complicated, long story, but it is inherited. I suspect me having it and you not has more to do with us moving shortly after you were born than anything, the ambient magics where Mum spent all her time while pregnant with us different enough it activated in me but not you. Dudley might also have it, but it might not have been properly activated. But Horace and I have been working on an experiment, operating on a theory that latent gifts can be artificially activated. We've had early successes already, "curing" a few young squibs. It has to be done young, in the first few years, so unfortunately it won't work for you. But it's possible we can give Dudley magic. If you're interested, write Horace, tell him you're my sister, and you're calling in the favour he owes me. Right away, as soon as possible.  
> I did arrange help and gifts, yes, but I know I'm asking far more of you than I'm giving in return. And I know I have no right to ask. I know this is a terrible thing I'm doing, abandoning my daughter and foisting her on you. And I am sorry for that. But I don't know what else to do. It's the only thing I can think of, and I've been thinking a very long time.  
> I need your help, Petunia. I'm sorry I do, but that's just the way it is. I need you to take care of Hazel. And this might sound terrible just saying this, but, please don't take out whatever anger you have for me on her. I know it might be tempting, but the thought kills me. That I'll likely not be able to protect her, and stupid mistakes I made as a teenager will come back to hurt her. I can't stand the thought, but I don't know how to fix it. Just coming out to meet you these two times is hard enough to arrange, and I wouldn't know what to say anyway. I need her to be happy, but I need her to be alive more, and this is the only way I can think of.  
> Please, Petunia. I can't be there for her. I need you to do it for me. I need you to love her for me.  
> I'm sorry.  
> Lily

Petunia carefully folded up the letter, one-handed — it would be a shame if she smeared the ink with the tears she'd gathered all over one hand in clearing her eyes. She slipped the letter back into the envelope, along with the other little bits of paper. Those she could look at later. Once she had everything tucked away, she glanced at Hazel again. Still asleep, good.

She leaned a bit forward, elbows resting on her knees, rubbing at her face with both hands. She was far more tired than she'd normally be at this time of the morning, her head hurt, her throat ached far too much to be reasonable. Probably make some tea, that should help. She'd probably be taking a nap later too, but she couldn't sleep just now. A peek through her fingers showed dawn lightening the sky — she could catch a bit after sending Vernon out for the day, during Dudley's nap.

She couldn't help feeling even more terrible than she had before reading the letter. That Lily had consciously let herself die to save her daughter, yes, that had hurt a bit to read. Not necessarily bad, though. A bright, proud hurt, but a hurt all the same. No, it was how much Lily had felt she'd had to beg. How she clearly hadn't thought Petunia would be entirely willing to take care of her daughter in her absence. How she'd begged Petunia not to hate Hazel in her place, begged her to love her.

It was especially painful because… Well, she wasn't certain Lily was entirely wrong to be worried about that. If Lily hadn't come those couple times, so weak and helpless and terrified, if she hadn't left her this letter… She had an honest enough understanding of her own character she couldn't be confident she would have treated Hazel well. The thought was horrifying, sickening, but it was honest.

God, she hated herself sometimes.

She straightened somewhat, reached over to run a finger along Hazel's thin yet still vividly colourful fringe. She could do it. She knew she could. She could do the last thing her baby sister had asked of her, the only thing she'd asked of her for years now. It wouldn't be easy, sure, she'd gotten the impression raising a deaf child could be trying. But she could do it. She would do it.

If only so, when she and Lily finally met again, her sister wouldn't look just as weak, and helpless, and broken as she had in her kitchen a few short months ago.

Petunia looked up, taking in the growing light out the window, the barely visible face of a clock on the wall. Vernon should be rising very soon. She'd usually have breakfast waiting by the time he was done getting ready — since she was almost always awake long before him, it wasn't hard to arrange. Perhaps… Perhaps she should go upstairs now, meet him in bed before he got up.

She had quite a few things to explain.

**Author's Note:**

> Hazel — _It didn't even occur to me until hours after I'd picked the name that Hazel and Harry start with the same two letters. I am so smart._
> 
> [They hadn't talked about any sort of medical intervention at all. Because, for people with complete deafness, there was none.] — _Someone might be thinking, What are you talking about, of course there is, you silly person! Remember, this is happening in 1981. Complicated surgical interventions like cochlear implants did exist back then, but they were highly experimental and extremely unreliable, doubtful to be something anyone would recommend performing on a six-month-old child. Even then, depending on what caused  the deafness, even modern ones don't necessarily work, so that wouldn't be a guarantee._
> 
> Adrestian — _Yes, Petunia just made a Greek mythology reference. Adrestia (Greek: Ἀδρήστεια), daughter of Ares (war) and Aphrodite (love and beauty), a goddess of revolt, vengeance, and balance between good and evil, "she whom none can escape". Seemed fitting._
> 
> * * *
> 
> _Surprise bonus update. I randomly wrote the last 2600 words or so. They might be kind of rough, because I didn't even proofread them, and it is midnight now, but I thought, eh, why not._
> 
> _I can't really talk about what this fic involves without massive spoilers. It came about by fusing a few different ideas I had for fics into one, and it's definitely not just a canon rehash with a deaf Girl-Who-Lived. I'll leave it at that._
> 
> _I do like this idea, we'll see if it ever happens._
> 
> _~Wings_


End file.
